


storm surge

by kyrilu



Category: Dominion (TV)
Genre: Consent Issues, Drugged Sex, Incest, M/M, One-Sided Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 19:39:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5261084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/pseuds/kyrilu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lyrae knew that he wasn’t the only one staring after the fiery, beautiful archangel Michael. He had looked at Michael with hungry eyes and registered, too, that Gabriel looked on him like that as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	storm surge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [days4daisy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/gifts).



> Written for the prompt:
>
>> I found Julian's emotional and physical breaking of Gabriel fascinating. Using Michael against him. Using his own desires against him.  
>   
> Like...I have this super-twisted idea that, what if instead of the orgy we saw between Gabriel and the three women posing as Claire, Noma, and Arika? What if Julian used his methods to appear as Michael to Gabriel? To steal Gabriel's affection for his brother, and take it for himself? Weakening Gabriel to a point that he shares that intimacy with him, claiming something that should belong only to Michael.  
> 
> 
>   
> I hope you like your fic, Daisy! :D 

Gabriel pulls himself into consciousness. The electric volts have left an ache on the surface of his skin, a sore sensation, but all Gabriel can feel is a slow sense of tired relief.

 _Michael escaped._ Michael will go to his Chosen One, and even if Michael is wrong, even if Alex is another useless human, he knows his brother. If Gabriel can’t bring their father back, Michael will. 

He becomes acutely aware of something pricked into his arm. A sliver of sharp metal, fine and thin, and it’s piercing and staying in its position. _An Empyrean steel needle,_ Gabriel identifies with disgust.

He opens his eyes, and sees Julian watching him, watching his face.

“What is this?” Gabriel says. He jerks at the attachments from the needle at his arm, at the machine it’s hooked up to, but his restraints are too tight.

“Something new,” Julian replies, gesturing toward the apparatus. “Traditional torture that aims for outright physical pain is always fun, but I thought I would shake up the game. Another approach. More, hmm, _unconventional._ ”

“Another form of electroshock therapy?” Gabriel says.

“Oh no. No, no, no. You’ll see.” Julian smiles at him. He leans forward and mock-whispers, sing-song, “I know your secret, Gabriel.”

Gabriel wants to laugh - a wild, loud laugh, one that conveys every ounce of his disdain. Julian is a peacock of a king, a parody of a leader, righteously parading around New Delphi as if it’s a heavenly sphere of his own. Julian knows a secret of _his_? Gabriel has many secrets. He is Gabriel, messenger and warrior of the Lord, who has held many secrets, who has served in both the heavens and earth. He doesn’t trust anyone or anything lower than him - not humans, nor higher angels, nor dogs of heaven, creatures that can corrupt anything good or holy - but he knows their histories like the palm of his hand. He’s lived and breathed knowledge and chronologies and folklore.

“Get on with it,” Gabriel tells Julian. Half-casually, as if he’s impatient. “Show me whatever horror you have in mind.” He sneers around the word _horror._

“We’re just getting started, Gabriel,” Julian says. He reaches for the machine.

The world darkens and blurs.

 

* * *

 

Gabriel pulls himself into consciousness (again). But Julian is gone this time, and when Gabriel sharply tugs at his restraints, they break easily. Gabriel’s head is spinning, thick from whatever Julian tried to administer him, and he pauses for a brief moment to stand and steady himself.

He needs to find cover somewhere nearby, somewhere to recover and shore up strength before he can figure out how to leave this accursed city. Then he’ll call to his angels: Janeck, Roan, Furiad’s still living red-armored companions, anyone, and he’ll come back with them and _burn_ Julian to cinders.

Gabriel manages to make his way toward to the door. Pushing it open slightly, he can hear the distant crowds of New Delphi outside: bartering, chattering, a low hum of conversation. There are no guards in sight.

He keeps his head down and ascends the levels of New Delphi’s floors. Up. Julian’s words earlier, demanding to know where Michael was hiding, come back to Gabriel, and he remembers how he had told Julian to work for it.

He knew. He always knows whenever it comes to Michael. There were battles, centuries ago, where Gabriel couldn’t find Michael and he knew his brother was hurt. Their connection - this thread that ran from his mind to Gabriel’s - would be edged with pain, and Gabriel would follow it to a high place and a dark place. He’d find Michael there, bleeding, teeth gritted, struggling to put a burning feather to his wounds.

He catches himself wondering _._ Their connection has weakened ever since Michael broke it off, but now he reaches for it, grasping, and he feels something warm and solid on the other end. Gabriel is hurt and tired and desperate, and all that he wants and needs right now is his brother.

It shouldn’t be possible, but it’s _there._ His twin in the darkness of his mind. And he’s physically nearby. Julian sealed the city, Gabriel recalls. He thinks: Michael couldn’t get out. He’s still here. Gabriel grabs onto the connection and follows it.

This is how Gabriel finds his brother: somewhere dark and high, slumped to the ground, his wings half-curled around himself. Michael looks exhausted, but when he looks up, there’s recognition bright in his eyes.

“Brother,” Michael says. “How did you--?”

“I don’t know,” Gabriel says. Everything is a messy blur. He sinks to the ground beside Michael, feels the feathers of Michael’s wings brush at his side. Then he leans against his brother and says, “You stayed.”

“I couldn’t exactly escape,” Michael says. “Julian tightened security on the perimeter around New Delphi. Sentries armed with Empyrean steel artillery. It’s difficult to find a clear open space to fly from.”

“And I thought you stayed for me,” Gabriel says, laconic.

“Well,” Michael says, with a small twist of his mouth, “perhaps that, too.”

Gabriel barks a laugh. “Liar.” But he believes this to be true. More grimly, he says, “You would have left, Michael. You pick your Chosen One over me each chance you get.”

He can’t stop blaming and accusing Michael for this, over and over. He has felt that they carry a destiny together; they’ve meant to.

“Who called out your name in the darkness when we were born at the same second? Who stopped you from becoming a tsunami instead of a flood? Who stayed your hand when you handed me a sword to plunge you into demotion and darkness, all for the sake of Sodom and Gomorrah? Not your Alex Lannon, _Michael_.” Gabriel glares, spits out Michael’s name with the harsh consonants of Lishepus. “You should have been at my side for these twenty-five years.”

Michael angles his wings away from Gabriel, as if stung. His eyes have clouded over, darkened like the horizon before a storm. “I don’t owe you _genocide_ for being your brother.”

“Now you lecture _me_ about genocide?” Gabriel asks. “I reminded you a millisecond ago: Michael, the Sword and the Flood. Countless kingdoms and civilizations at your feet. And you are waging battle on our own kind, my angels. You were supposed to be one of mine, too.”

“You’re desperate,” Michael retorts, in return. “You’re so very desperate, Gabriel.”

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “And, tell me, what do you mean by that?”

Michael swings his body toward Gabriel. He snaps a hand to the side of Gabriel’s cheek. It doesn’t hurt, and it’s more as if Michael is cradling Gabriel’s face there. He says, “You’ve descended into _madness._ I wonder if you’ve always been mad, but whatever this is, it’s worsened.”

“Madness,” Gabriel repeats.

“Yes,” Michael says softly. “Some kind of pitiful, egotistic, narcissistic, twisted loneliness. Archangel Gabriel sitting in his fortress all by his lonesome, missing his _daddy_ desperately. Archangel Gabriel whimpering over little David, a sad grudge he’s using right now to justify slaughtering humanity. Remember, little David was a human, too. I was the one who let him die, not humans.”

No. What went down with David was many things, but it was Gabriel’s responsibility. He didn’t anticipate what humans would do to subvert the path of fate.

“It was _me_ ,” Gabriel snarls. “My fault. My _son._ ”

Michael shakes his head and says simply, “I didn’t catch him.” He continues, “And perhaps it was truly an accident, but you knew me then. I did not care for humans as you did, and not reaching him in time meant that I never saw David as much an importance as you did.”

Gabriel has never seen his brother so cold. He doesn’t want to think about David any more. His poor laughing boy with his solid, steady aim. Instead he says, almost a whisper, “I am not some desperate, pathetic creature.”

“I was building a city,” Michael says, tightening the grip of his fingers against Gabriel’s cheek, “while you sulked and trained ineffective spying rats to scuttle around the Cradle. I was a warrior in heaven and earth, while you were a lowly messenger who pretended to be pure of heart and soul, even though you _looked_ at me in a way that no brother should.”

(This is Gabriel’s secret.)

Gabriel feels himself still, hold his breath, and he feels that familiar sensation of loathing creep in his chest. Gabriel has wanted his brother for eons and ages, wanted to hold him, strip him bare, claim him for his own and _name_ him possessively, like one would a star, like he did when they were born together, “ _Michael_ ,” in the blackness and nothingness.

Their father has made every single living being perfect and faultless, but Gabriel was made flawed beyond measure. His bond with Michael is strong, unbreakable, but there is this wrongness, this desire, and it feels nothing like perfection at all.

Until he finds it. Until he loses himself, briefly, in the wanting of it all.

Gabriel’s eyes chase Michael’s face for that perfection and finds it instantly in the Michael’s eyes.

“No,” Gabriel says, the sound strangled at the back of his throat. Michael doesn’t say a thing. Michael keeps that cruel sneer on his face and then stretches his wings out like a predator cornering his prey, trapping Gabriel between each wing.

Then Gabriel says, “How did you know?”

(Lyrae knew that he wasn’t the only one staring after the fiery, beautiful archangel Michael. He had looked at Michael with hungry eyes and registered, too, that Gabriel looked on him like that as well.)

“I knew all along,” Michael says. “And it _sickened_ me. You have always sickened me. Do you think that, ah, issue wouldn’t have come to my attention through our bond? I only tolerate you because I know I must. We were always in each other’s heads and we had to do missions together for Father’s sake. I never _loved_ you, Gabriel. And I never wanted to _fuck_ you, either, for the record.”

Michael’s hand is achingly gentle on Gabriel’s face. Lightly stroking his cheeks, his forehead, closing over his eyes. His hand stays there, clasped over Gabriel’s eyelids, and when he pulls his palm away, Gabriel eyes are a dusty red, pricked with tears.

“Liar,” Gabriel says again, merely a breath, and he thinks of Michael laughing with him merely a day earlier, both of them derisive and stubborn in the face of Julian’s torture. He thinks of Michael coming to him after battles in the past, smiling tiredly, falling to curl beside Gabriel. “Liar, liar, liar.”

From every moment since he was created, the only one thing he truly has held onto was that Michael loves him. It is something he still keeps deep in his chest even during these long twenty-five years. It is a love that is not the same caliber as Gabriel’s, but he knew (thought he knew) that Michael still had it. Even trading turns pressing blades against each other’s throats, even with destruction left in each other's wakes, it was always, always: _Michael loves me._

He can’t stop the foolish, weak tears any longer. He tries to bow his head, his hair falling across his face, avoiding Michael’s gaze. He shakes. Lets out a sob like a hoarse cough. He’s still enveloped between Michael’s wings, in this loose prison, and he can’t free himself, can’t pull himself together to yell or to rage.

It hurts. The electricity still tingles on his skin like thousands of tiny locusts darting from length to length. His eyesight is hazy, unfocused, from whatever Julian had attempted to do to him.

And he has lost his brother.

“Shh,” Michael says. He is impossibly tender. He moves a finger against Gabriel’s mouth. “Don’t cry now, Gabriel. I think - I think I will kill you. You’ll only be a useless burden in escaping from hereon out. But I want to give you what you want first. Shh, shh, shh.”

Michael’s wings push Gabriel against the wall and pin his body there. Gabriel doesn’t struggle; he feels so limp and _blank_. Michael’s wings rustle, shift, and as they hold Gabriel in place, Michael reaches a hand out to dip against Gabriel’s hip, dragging across his stomach. Michael’s hand rubs lower and Gabriel makes that weak, unbearable, cough-like sob again: “ _Don’t_ \--”

The expression on Michael’s face changes, and this is an expression that Gabriel recognizes. He hasn’t seen it for centuries. It’s a smirk, but more than just that: it is base cruelty and disregard, the demeanor of the Flood and the Sword cutting down lesser beings that he doesn’t deem worthy or significant.

“Gabriel,” Michael says, “my lonely, miserable brother. No. Oh, no. I won’t stop. This is what you’ve always wanted. You’ve always wanted your precious twin, your other half, to do this to you.”

His hand slips into Gabriel’s dark trousers, and it feels warm. Cupping around the head of his cock, setting a light graze of friction, a thumb stroking and stroking.

Gabriel doesn’t want this. He lets out a strangled gasp, fragments of Lishepus and Michael’s name, and then, all he can say, panting, his eyes narrowing half-shut, “Brother.”

Brother, please.

Michael’s hand makes an uncaring jerk on Gabriel’s cock, causing Gabriel’s hips to snap forward, seeking more, harder, faster, even though he doesn’t mean to feel this, not truly--

He doesn’t want to be taken apart like this, when Michael’s staring at him coolly like he’s a thing to be annihilated, a thing to be dominated and conquered.

“I bet,” Michael says, “that you’ve dreamed of this. Dreamed of this moment when your dear brother finally reciprocated your revolting perversion. What did you imagine it to be? Romantic? Full of guilt? Rose petals, your horn trumpeting a perfect union, all the splendor of heaven?”

No. He thought it would be like dying. It would be falling together against each other, the pieces of their shared soul clicking into place. It would be painful more than anything else, more painful than the day that Michael chose humans over him, even more painful than what Michael is doing to him now.

Gabriel closes his eyes, and comes, and wishes that he wanted this.

 

* * *

 

When he opens his eyes, he can feel the wet stickiness splattered in his trousers. Julian is gazing at him smugly, satisfied. And Gabriel is still back in that room, restrained and chained. The Empyrean steel needle pinches at his arm.

Julian wipes his dirtied hand on Gabriel’s hair, a casual and disdainful movement. “That was rather informative,” he says. “Having fun yet, Gabriel?”

“You _took_ that from me,” Gabriel says in a growl, but all he wants to do is shake and let himself break down completely. _You took that from me._

“I did,” Julian agrees. “And it seems like you liked it.”

Julian salutes. And, whistling, he strides away.

Gabriel exhales.

He whispers for his brother to come back for him.


End file.
